The Matt Crawley Show
by theMatthewReview
Summary: Happy MM AU Fest Day! With much love from The Matthew Review where this was first published on Tumblr with sound clips. With sincere admiration of Graham Nash, as well as of Dan Stevens, Michelle Dockery and Manchester United.
1. Chapter 1

**_Local Television Host Back From Honeymoon in Cannes_**

_**His Stunningly Lovely Bride on Next Episode of Programme**_

_Manchester, June 25th - Mr. Matt Crawley, host of the popular BBC Manchester Weekend programme that bears his name, has returned home with his new bride, Lady Mary Crawley. Back from their recent honeymoon in Cannes, the happy pair spoke briefly to the press about plans for the very near future._

_'We'll both be on the next show on the 28th. There will also be a feature on Manchester United's Busby Babes, and we're really fortunate to have booked Graham Nash, whose new book tells of his childhood here,' Matthew said to reporters who greeted the newlywed Crawleys at Terminal 1 at Manchester Airport yesterday._

_The bride and groom presently make one of their homes in Greater Manchester._

This article in the morning edition of the _Manchester Evening News _was one of the sights that greeted Matthew's eyes as he and Mary sat down to a home-cooked English breakfast (courtesy of Mrs. Bird).

'I see we made the morning paper, my darling,' he smiled in his sweetest, softest voice, with the private grin and tone meant just for Mary.

'Oh, Matthew,' she sighed, making his name music to his ears. 'I can only hope that we don't become celebrities just because of the show now.'

'Don't worry, Mary,' he replied, brushing a lock of her dark hair behind her ear. 'I'm just a host; we're just North-West programming, and people tune in to see the guests, not me.'

'I'd tune in just to see you, my love…'

'Awwww,' came a loving exclamation from her husband before he kissed her. 'That's nice to think about. After all it's your support that will keep me going for as long as the show lasts.'

'And for a long time after that, I hope…' Mary whispered lovingly, touching his cheek.

Mary knew that Matthew's true ambition was to teach law and political science at the university level, that the show was a pleasant diversion based on her husband's natural charm and poise when making presentations. It paid the bills, it amused him to present local public affairs and features in some depth whenever possible. And in just a few days, both would be before the cameras again, handsome Matt Crawley and gorgeous, aristocratic Lady Mary Crawley, _neé_ Grantham.

They had met on the air five years before when she had come to Manchester to promote the 'Children's Arts Trust' concert being held at the MEN Arena. He'd later brought her to a pub in Chorlton, and as United ran roughshod over their opponents on a telly on the other side of the room, they began to fall in love over Guinness and hard cider….

…. over coffee and orange juice, they sat now, more in love than ever.

For she knew the true Matthew's compassion and frustration, and he the true Mary's actual shyness, which she truly overcame only when they were together alone, just as they were now, safe here, in quiet Chorltonville.

Matthew went into the soundstage area of the BBC Manchester studios with Mary, carrying her garment bag over his shoulder, His back had been acting up ever since the plane ride home from Cannes, rather than the annoying twinge of pain just going away in a day or two as he had hoped it would. Right at the moment, he bit it back as he spoke to Mary.

'Darling, they've remodeled this area since we met. The dressing rooms, and the Green Room, are over here to our right now.'

He'd managed to smile and think of that day just over five years ago when he'd had Lady Mary Grantham as one of his guests, and fallen for her at first sight, but this very same beauty could tell that something was bothering her husband now.

'Matthew, is something the matter?'

'Oh, it's nothing… I'll take care of it…'

'Sweetheart… you can tell me if you want to.'

The pair got near the bank of dressing rooms, and ducked into the one marked '_Matt Crawley' _before he felt able to admit anything to her.

'Mary, my love, it's my old back injury. Once in a while the pain flares up, and I wasn't comfortable on the plane ride, that's all.'

'Can you take anything for it, Matthew? I have some prescription Fenbid in my satchel…'

'Perfect - it won't make me lightheaded like what Dr. Ogilvie prescribed me last.'

Matthew walked quietly onto the left of the soundstage, and looked at his audience as a dim light shone upon his handsome face. He then indicated the area to his right, and uttered in a calm voice,

'Ladies and gentlemen, Graham Nash.'

The camera panned off of Matthew, just as Tom Branson had cued, and another one focussed on a sprightly, snowy-haired gentleman seated at an electronic keyboard. This was the very man so brave as to leave Salford for Southern California, in the name of being true to his muses; he had returned, as he had many times over the last several years, and now he was going to sing in a changed Salford, for Matthew, for Mary, for one and all, his own baffled love song to Manchester and its people.

Even in his seventies - maybe because of the wisdom he'd gathered during all those years - Nash could tug at one's heartstrings, and especially here, from whence the music had come. There were few dry eyes in the house; Matthew definitely rubbed at something in his. When the lights went up, Matthew led warm applause, and did not say a word before shaking the great musician's hand and showing him to the empty chair nearest to his own. As they sat down he spoke:

'So delighted to have you here on the show today, Mr. Nash.'

'So glad I could make it! And please call me Graham, won't you?'

'Certainly, and you can call me Matthew.. Matt… Matty…'

The twinkle in his eye added to a light-hearted moment; Graham was to settle, most mellifluously, on "Matthew".

'And yes, indeed, Graham, it's worth the effort to have brought you here. Could you let us in on what's brought you home to Manchester this time?'

'Let me tell you, Matthew: I've written a book for my little granddaughter, and I thought that some other people might be interested as well….'

'I've read it,' smiled Matthew, grinning from ear to ear. 'It's quite a record there!'

Graham Nash looked delighted that young Crawley had done his homework. Matthew then held up his copy of the book, _Wild Tales_, and spoke to his audience.

'I'd like to encourage everyone to pick up a copy of Graham Nash's book here. It's called _Wild Tales_. and not only do you tell us about your life with Crosby and Stills, Graham. You tell about your boyhood here in the Salford area, about your best friend Allan Clarke, about what it was like to come of age in Greater Manchester…'

'About February 6th, 1958…' sighed Nash. 'A sad day. But to this day, I still support United. I look forward to meeting _both of_ your next guests…'

'My next guest first came here about five years ago… a most lovely, accomplished young woman, known by those who appreciate it most for her charitable work, her quiet grace and poise… and of course, I've just got to admit I'm her most ardent admirer. Ladies and gentlemen, may I present my wife, Lady Mary Crawley.'

In a breathtaking red gown that draped elegantly over her lovely figure, Mary came onto the soundstage without letting on her nervousness outwardly. The audience clapped with genuine pleasure to see her. Though she was almost certain the sound of her heels hitting the floor was much too loud, and that she was taking far too much time to reach her chair next to his, she smiled a smile that spoke to Matthew only of her burgeoning love for him. His eyes shimmered with both adoration and pride, and the pair drew strength from one another as he took her hand, then drew her to himself for a brief, polite kiss and a whisper of encouragement.

'My darling Mary… we can do this, you and I. And, oh, that dress is perfect.'

'Say, Matt… why don't we read you two some questions from the audience?' asked Tom Branson, standing in the shadows, his brogue warm over the tannoy.

Matthew winked at Mary, as if to say there would be no unpleasant surprises from his colleague and friend.

We're fine with that, aren't we, sweetheart?' he spoke aloud, looking for her nod while cocking his ear as if he knew people would react to him.

Her eyes met his as she did nod with a little grin. Anything for Matthew…

Yet Mary's patience with the situation that loomed before her was soon to be tested, not by her husband, but by certain members of his studio audience that had come because of their great love for Manchester United. As soon as Matthew had shown her to the seat next to him, he turned to those present with one of those charming, mischievous grins that so endeared him to television viewers throughout Lancashire and said,

'You see, she's even wearing the proper colour, isn't she?'

In only a moment a group of people in the back seats began to sing enthusiastically, and more or less in tune. It became evident that some Man United supporters had adapted the words of a football chant about one of the star players, Wayne Rooney, to suit the occasion:

'_Matt Craw-lee! Matt Craw-lee!_

_You've married a beauty, Matt Craw-lee!'_

A bit startled himself, Matthew looked anxiously at Mary to see her reaction to the song. Yet she did not betray any dismay that anyone besides him could detect; he could only see something register in her deep brown eyes, and he understood that the less they reacted, the better it would be for her.

When it came time to bring his last guest, Wilf McGuinness, on the set, Matthew took on a solemn expression, and his brilliant eyes seemed to dim with respect and sorrow as he began his first introduction.

'It's been over fifty years since we lost the Busby Babes in the Munich Air Disaster on February 6th, 1958. It's certainly quite unlikely that the most tragic event in the history of football will ever be forgotten here in Manchester. A new book has come out about the legacy of those splendid lads…'

The mood became more serious as Mr. McGuinness shook hands with Matthew, who had heard on more than one occasion from his late father, Dr. Reginald Crawley, about the wonderful young players he had seen as a boy. Conversation turned to memories of how enthusiastically the eight lads who died on a snowy, slushy runway in Munich, Germany, had played 'the beautiful game' of football, as taught by the brilliant, awe-inspiring Matt Busby. Graham Nash recalled how he and his father had gone to Old Trafford, United's football ground, to see the games, and what he felt on that horrible, foggy winter's day upon finding out the bad news:

'… and, of course, Matthew, I, like all of Manchester, was terribly sad. I had known both Eddie Colman and Duncan Edwards; they'd gone to my school and were just a bit older than me. I felt like the insides had just fallen out of me…'

When that segment ended, Matthew asked Graham if he might like to sing another song and thus brighten everyone's mood.

'My pleasure, Matthew. I wrote this song for my wife, Susan, and I still feel every bit of it; but this time, I'd like to dedicate it to you and Mary. May i?

Both young Crawleys were very pleased, and the smile on Matthew's face as he presented Graham once more was wide and bright.

At last the time had come to wrap up the show for the day, and Matthew rose to the occasion as he always had, with poise, confidence and charm in spades:

"I'd like to thank Wilf McGuinness, Graham Nash, and especially my darling wife Mary for coming here today. We talk with Shaun and Paul Ryder from the Happy Mondays and Tony Wilson of Factory Records on the next _Matt Crawley Show. _ Till then, so long! We'll see you next week in _Madchester!'_

For some reason, Tom Branson didn't cue the theme music for the show, and Matthew glanced in his direction, his sparkling blue eyes a semaphore of slight disorientation until Mary reached his side and touched his arm gently.

'You're welcome, Matthew…' she smiled quietly, her sweet, enlightened manner in keeping with the sense of discovery that was their new marriage.

In scarcely two hours, she'd been ushered gently into that part of her husband's world that had terrified her five years ago until Matthew had reached out to her in friendship. Such a parallel to that other memory that he had also healed with his love! Matthew slipped an arm around her waist with a contented sigh…

A large part of the audience that sat in the back of the studio rose to their feet and piped up in full voice as soon as Matthew and Mary arrived at the front of the set with their guests.

_'Matt Crawley's show… (MATT CRAWLEY'S SHOW!)_

_Is wonderful… (IS WONDERFUL!)_

_Matt Crawley's show is wonderful!_

_There's been a Hollie, _

_Two Crawleys_

_And UNITED!_

_MATT CRAWLEY'S SHOW IS WONDERFUL!'_

All four people on the set beamed and laughed at the football chanters, who once more bubbled under with that other chant as soon as Mary moved forward to take a bow:

'_Matt Craw-lee, Matt Craw-lee,_

_You've married a beauty, Matt Craw-lee!'_

The little ditty was kept up in much the same fashion as when crystal is tinkled at a wedding reception, until Matthew took the pretty lady in his arms and appeared to give her a showy stage kiss. He could feel his wife shaking a little as their audience clapped and sang yet another chant:

_'Matthew and Mary! There's only Matthew and Mary!_

_Matthew and Maaaaa-rrreeee…._

_There's only Matthew and Maaaa-rrreeeeeeee…'_

'We'll be home soon, my darling…' Matthew whispered in her ear. 'We can be alone then.'

'I hope so, Matthew… I'm just a bit nervous now.'

'You looked so lovely when you came out here… do you know that?' he continued gently as they broke off and he slipped an arm around her waist for support.

'Oh, Matthew…' she sighed, gazing into his darkening eyes as, mercifully, the theme song for the show was played over the tannoy.

Meanwhile, the great Graham Nash gave the grand old Busby Babe a big hug, a gesture which delighted the audience as it upstaged the young lovers. Matthew smiled, breathing a sigh of relief. Good old Graham! Even when moved to tears, the Salford legend could move about in public without appearing a bit uncomfortable.

Having made friends for life of both Wilf McGuinness and Graham Nash, Matthew and Mary went back home from BBC Manchester studios after about an hour.

'A quiet dinner at home? What say you, love?' Matthew asked sweetly as they neared the gardens and peace of Chorlton-cum-Henry.

'Oh, yes… I'm hoping Mrs. Bird is at the top of her game. I'm hungry right now.'

'And so am I…'

Their hopes were realised in terms of Chicken Biryani with Basmati Rice, a cool Cucumber Mint Raita and some refreshing Assam tea. Mrs. Bird had gotten the recipe from Mrs. Choudhury, a friend and colleague of Matthew's mother, Isobel; now she received kudos from the young couple.

'You're so welcome, Matthew and Mary. Why don't I clean up after myself now, and wish you a lovely evening?'

And that sort of evening was precisely what they had, first talking of their eventful day, then prone to sweet nothings, and at last needing no words any more but 'Oh, Mary, my darling!' and 'My precious, precious Matthew!' crooned tenderly after quite a while.


	2. Episode Two-A - Matty is disappointed

_(The episode being dealt with now, and its aftermath, and how Mary cheers Matty up ten times as much as he's been disappointed, will stretch over three installments.)_

A few months, a few shows later, Matthew felt in the end as if clouds had seemed to gather on Soundstage 2 at the BBC Manchester studios from the moment the man had come in. The artist's rider had stated that there were to be certain amenities in his dressing room, his manager had said that there was no time on the schedule for any photographs or autograph sessions after the broadcast, and in the end, the singer who had figured most prominently in Matty Crawley's shy teenage years lived up to what people in the industry had said about him lately.

If such frank statements had actually been made within earshot of Matthew, whose almost encyclopedic knowledge of the music that had been part of his soundtrack all through Stretford Grammar School had animated him during working hours for several days, the charming host had either not paid attention or not heard anything. But that day, the man that once had stood upon a certain lad's pedestal had been allowed to take over the largest dressing room - which was usually Matt's - and had engaged himself in a loud conversation with someone on the other end of a cellphone call.

'… _no, I didn't want just ANY brand of mineral water. Who knows what's in this d—d stuff? Bottled in Wales…. And was it really necessary to send me off to some local guy's little TV show? As if no one remembers who I am… yes, I know there were still tickets available tonight… yes, I'm going to sing those again. I curse the day I wrote them. Yes… the guy's name is Crowe or something… Croft… no, no; _Crawley,_ that's it. Might as well tune in if you want to keep tabs on me. Yeah, right. Naaaa…. not his fault, but whatever… see you back at the hotel.'_

The not-really-private conversation, parts of which Matthew had overheard, put a damper on things in the normally upbeat studio. What was the order of appearance? Could Matthew present his former idol last if if was really going to be such an ordeal for the chap? Unusually for Matthew - who always applied his own makeup and tended to define 'bright-eyed and bushy-tailed' - he had to be fetched from the unfamiliar dressing room, having just brought out the colour of his eyes enough to make them shine pleasantly in the footlights.

'Matty, dear chap, is everything all right in there?' Tom Branson asked as he rapped on the door. 'You're due on set in five minutes.'

'Oh, I'm all right, Tom, old boy. Thanks; I couldn't find the outlet in here for a while. That's what I get for having become so spoilt…' Matthew replied as he came out in his fine, crisp Savile Row linen suit.

'None of those old guilt trips, "Crawlspace", please. I've put up with a few temper tantrums today.'

'You haven't called me "Crawlspace" for a long time, Tom…'

'It's been a long time since you were the tall kid with just enough spots to abash you, who kept to yourself while you were pulling some of the best marks in the whole upper sixth form, Matthew. Now come along…'

Tom kept walking right alongside Matthew, and this gave him some moral support on the way to the familiar set. Not quite 5 yards from the entry to the soundstage, the one suddenly asked the other:

'You couldn't _possibly _be nervous about actually meeting someone, now, could you?'

'Oh, no, no, Tom. I've realized what it is to grow up. Some of the smallest lessons smart a little more than they warrant smarting, that's all.'

So-ooo, had Matthew actually come into contact with His Royal _-ness, and become enlightened thereby? Tom wondered about this as his dapper friend swallowed, straightened his tie, and walked in, wondering about any and all available information on the teleprompter.


	3. Episode 2-B - Mary's Favourite Programme

Mary had seen her new GP that morning - a most pleasant fellow named Dr. William Evans, whom her mother-in-law, Isobel, had recommended to her. Having arrived back home in Chorltonville, she felt both joy and trepidation come upon her thanks to what she had just found out. Joy - for knowing Matthew would be so happy upon hearing the news. Trepidation - as there is a first time for everything, and there would be so much to learn and to bear… Yes, the Crawleys could now say they were expecting a baby.

'Oh, I'll tell him either as soon as he asks how things went at the doctor's office or as soon as I'm truly nestled in his arms…' Mary resolved in her thoughts.

As for her work, she could just as easily do her grant writing as ever, and do more telecommuting if need be. In fact, she had a proposal on behalf of Oxfam sitting on the back burner, due in a week; she could work on it today after sitting down with a cup of tea to watch her favourite programme on the telly…

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

_'… __with your host, Matt Crawley!_' came Tom Branson's voice, heralding Matthew's entrance on the set.

And didn't he look handsome?!

Mary, nearly sighing at the sight of her husband in his designer suit, watched appreciatively as he waved and smiled at his studio audience. This time people appeared to be mostly in their late 20's and early 30's. That's right - hadn't Tom announced that one of Matthew's favourite singers was supposed to be on the show today? What a thrill, or at least what pleasant nostalgia for him! Yet a certain excitement so typical of Matthew whenever he looked forward to meeting someone seemed to be quite missing. He introduced his first guests, and soon talked with them about the Early Birds school breakfast program for Manchester's inner-city children. Endearing kindness and compassion radiated from him as he listened and spoke; he was totally in the moment, not a bit distracted by what was to come.

_'… __their teachers report that there is far less restlessness or inattention in class, Matthew! And bell curves have even shifted upwards, too._'

_'__Perhaps the kids' tummies aren't rumbling, right?'_ Matthew observed, his eyes shining as he smiled. _'In any case, will funding for the Early Birds Programme continue next year?'_

_'__There is definitely enough support in the House of Commons for making it permanent and expanding the programme to other inner city areas throughout Britain….'_

And Mary daydreamed of a sweet little child who looked like Matthew, sitting down to a proper breakfast at their dining room table before going to Brookburn Primary School. How fortunate, they, the Crawleys of Greater Manchester! It was for this reason that her work must go on for the less fortunate, even as their family basked in the warmth of mutual love.

_(Stay tuned - the commercials will soon be over, except for the one for Man Utd 2014-2015!)_


	4. Episode 2-C - An Old Song Re-Sung

By the time the commercial for Manchester United was through and all Matt's television audience had seen the new home kit in all its glory, Mary saw her husband describe the content of his next programme, as pleasantly as usual. At this point in _The Matt Crawley Show, _rather than just before the theme song played and the closing credits rolled, such an announcement from Matthew was just a bit unusual, though. It seemed as if cast and crew were stalling for time; something was not going according to plan. Soon Tom Branson asked:

'Shall we invite the audience to e-mail or fax their questions for the MP to us before next week, Matthew?

'That wouldn't be a bad idea, Tom! Why not? Ladies and gentlemen, please do feel free to send your questions for the Honourable Mr. Stringer to _The Matt Crawley Show_ by e-mail at MattCShow .uk or by fax to 0161-788-9990. We'll put these up at the end of the show, but, again, that's MattCShow .uk or fax us at 0161788-9990. We can get them in time for the MP to go over them until next Friday at 5:00 pm.'

At this point Matthew exchanged his public service face for a sober version of his own, engaged face. The lights brightened only a little as he spoke, and his smile was more wistful than usual. He wasn't excited; he felt nostalgic, as if something were forever gone, or at least not the same.

'Songs by my next guest played almost constantly on my CD player during the 90's as I hit the books, drove around in my beater Fiat, or otherwise not either in school or watching United play. Even my dad knew the words to a few of my teenage anthems, by this gentleman. He's stopped here on his way to the MEN Arena tonight; the concert is scheduled for 7:30, with no opening act. Singing two of his classics, back to back, may I present…'

During Matthew's introduction Mary suddenly felt a wave of nausea - something Dr. Evans had told her she might feel from time to time for the next few weeks until she had gotten used to the pregnancy. She walked briskly to the bathroom…

-O-O-O-O-O-

Rubbing her tummy as if pure affection for the little soul that was part herself and part her Matthew would radiate to him or her, Mary returned to the living room in time to see the closing credits being run over the end of the second song, the audience's applause as well as Matthew's, and the artist himself - what was his name again, Mary wondered? - taking a bow on the soundstage as if he were not to greet his host at all. 'Sorry to sing and dash, but …'

Mary would simply have to ask Matthew what happened and to comfort him if he were disappointed in how the day's events had played out.


End file.
